Ahoy there Lovers!
Ok Lovers, who didn’t cross their fingers? That’s right, teeny tiny penis man bailed at the last minute!
Yes, it was most definitely a saddening blow when I realised there would be no tormenting of the miniscule wang for me. I texted Paul on Friday morning, eager to suss out the details of our meeting so I could squeeze in some more research (and maybe memorise some choice humiliation lines.)
However my eagerness was met with a cold bucket of water, thrown by a man not only in possession of the most microscopic member, but terrible Internet dating scruples.
I asked Pail if he was still ‘up’ for the night (the pun game is strong with this one.) He replied that no, he wasn’t and we would have to reschedule for the weekend.
Keh? Reschedule? Subs aren’t allowed to reschedule bitch!
I informed petite pork sword Paul that I was in fact, busy the entire weekend and only this night would suit.
I smirked to myself as I got into character. Pfft, trying to change nights on me little man? I don’t think so!
Paul’s reply both surprised and enraged me.
“I kind of just want to jump straight into it babe.”
Excuse me? You want me to forgo all my safety procedures and just allow you into my house so we can ‘jump straight into’ golden showers, pegging and chastity cages?
I don’t think so Mr!
I replied as calmly as possible, while my brain screamed at him and his ignorance of my situation. I was doing him a favour by going out on a limb for him, a latex covered, slightly lubed up limb, and he was trying to push me even further?
What a little bitch.
“Sorry babe, but that’s not the way it works. We meet in a bar for a drink so I can screen you for crazy. Then if all goes well we can get into the fun stuff.”
He replied with a sullen “Ok, fine.”
Geez if he wanted me to think he was a pathetic little winky he was certainly hitting all the right buttons. Talk about method acting!
I decided to give him five days to reschedule. If he didn’t, I would delete him.
Of course I deleted him.
The little wiener never talked to me again, just as I suspected.
The truth is, I’m not sure if Paul was an experienced hand at kink and SPH, or if he was just a newbie with big fantasies. The idea that we could just ‘jump straight into it’ makes me think he wasn’t very experienced. In my own limited involvement with kink, the psychological build up is half the fun. Jumping straight in would be like a guy ramming in balls deep without even a kiss!
And we all know how much fun that is…not.
Another disappointment this week was the swingers party. Sadly Lovers I was not able to attend! Trust me, I’m just as devastated as you my lovelies. But unfortunately, one can never predict when the icy hand of the flu will trickle its moist phlegm down your back.
I seriously doubt sixty couples arriving for some sexy time would appreciate me and my sexy cough barking all over them.
But never fear Lovers! We will regroup and sally forth once more into the fray!
But until then I’ll tell you about my most recent of disastrous Tinder dates. Remember Paul? (The other Paul. Not SPH Paul. Yes, I’m aware I need to think of more fake names.) Country boy Paul, the Paul who stood me up three times.
Yeah, that Paul.
Ok so now we’ve established which Paul we’re talking about (wow how many times can I say Paul in one paragraph?) we’ll get to what happened when I actually met him.
What a douche.
A few weeks after I’d deleted him on Tinder, I was flicking through my Bumble account when who should flash up? Paul of course.
I reluctantly started chatting with him again. I just couldn’t pass up meeting someone who knew where my hometown was. Literally nobody knows it so the chance to reminisce about the old place was too much of a temptation to resist.
We arranged to meet at a local pub and the date was set. I was not confidant however, due to his track record of cancelling at the very last minute.
Much to my surprise though, he texted me to tell me he was on his way and should be on time.
I was of course a little late. It was only fair to make him wait just a little after the dick move he’d pulled a few weeks ago.
I walked into the bar and looked around, searching for men sitting alone. Then I saw him. He looked good. Remarkably good actually. Wow, what a cutie.
“Paul?” I asked, excited to get my drank on and touch him inappropriately.
Goddamit! It wasn’t him! The yes came from a hunched figure sitting in the corner opposite him.
I tried to hide my disappointment as Paul butted out his cigarette (eww he smoked) and shambled towards me.
After taking one last glance at the gorgeous man waiting for his incredibly lucky date, I slid into a booth with Paul.
Urgh, it was not good Lovers.
The man looked like a thirty year old but behaved like an eighteen year old. We talked about bad Tinder dates to break the ice and boy he did not come off well! His crowning moment of idiocy would have to be the proud manner in which he announced he had slept with a midget.
“What was her name?” I asked pointedly.
“I dunno, midget girl I guess,” he guffawed idiotically.
Whenever I made a joke that he enjoyed, he would slap both his hands on his thighs and jump up and down like some joyful toddler.
It was quite disconcerting to say the least.
He then went on the tell me all about his favourite game. Insulting women in bars for money.
“Yeah it’s great,” he gushed “ You go up to some random chicks and say something like, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Good thing you landed on your face!”
Cue his weird laughter and knee slapping.
“That’s horrible.” I said, completely expressionless as I wondered which of the Gods I had pissed off to deserve this date.
“Nah it’s ok, I bought them a drink later.” He said, affronted.
“Did you apologise?”
“Nah no way!” he laughed.
God give me strength, I prayed to myself.
I ordered a pizza so I had something to distract myself with but to my dismay they were ‘out’ of pizzas. Honestly how can you be out of pizzas when that’s the only thing on the menu?
Clearly it was not my night.
Paul suggested we go somewhere else to eat. My brain screamed at me to get out, but my stomach was squealing a different tune.
That tune was dumplings.
We headed towards the dumpling restaurant and as we walked Paul rolled another cigarette. This was my only chance for a slightly smokey free kiss.
Note: I know you’re probably all thinking, “why in God’s name would you want to kiss this wanker?” And you’re right Lovers, he was a complete wanker. But I’m testing a theory. Girls like bad boys right? Aka: Wankers. Why? Maybe it’s because they are the best kissers, the best in bed, the best in all things sexual. Therefore I figure it’s my duty to kiss everyone I go on a date with, whether they be a gentleman or a douche. Then I can prove the theory! Or disprove it, either way. Safe to say Paul fell well and truly into the douche category.
I grabbed him and pinned him to the wall aggressively. I had no time for romantic crap.
“I think we should make out before you light that disgusting thing.” I said
He laughed and I leaned in.
The bastard dodged me!
Huh, that’s a first, I thought. It didn’t really bother me, which was no surprise. If I had actually liked the guy it would have been a sore blow but I was feeling nothing but passive aggressive towards him.
I shrugged and we continued on for dumplings.
After dinner we walked towards home together as we lived in a similar area (such a shame he was a tool. He was perfectly placed for a handy friends with benefits deal.)
We reached the corner and I said jokingly “Well I’d invite you home but you’re clearly not interested.”
He laughed, hard, confirming my hypothesis that he was in fact, not interested.
I stuck my hand out for a handshake and he looked at it quizzically.
“Oh come on, don’t I at least get a hug?”
I sighed inwardly and stepped forward to embrace him. As his arms went around me he truly sunk to a new low, as he squealed “Titties!”
Good god man, how have you ever lured a woman into bed?
If that was what he uttered during a hug, I shudder to imagine what he screams during sex.
I laughed awkwardly and walked fast in the opposite direction, keen to get home and scrub the memory of the night out of my brain.
After a lengthy shower and many many loofahs, I emerged from the bathroom only to find a message from Paul. It read: Hey, thanks for tonight. You know that’s the first time I’ve ever not accepted an invitation home. I’m kind of surprised at myself!”
I deleted him faster than you can say man-child and returned to the shower to continue scrubbing.
Pickup line of the week: Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?